Eight

  

Megan met with her new chef later that day. Like her, Jeremy was a Winsome native who’d returned to his roots after years away—in his case, New York City, Paris, and London. Classically trained, he’d given up the hustle and bustle of the big city for small-town Pennsylvania when he needed a change. A self-proclaimed organic-food zealot, he was now trying to figure out his next move, and the challenge of getting the café off the ground was appealing.

“When can you start?” Megan asked. They were in the café’s kitchen, and he was staring at the small but tidy space, wheels obviously turning.

He shrugged. “Today.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with the salary? I know it’s nowhere near what you were making in New York.”

Jeremy smiled. He had a chiseled, stern face, but when he smiled, all the hard edges softened. It was a smile that gave the recipient a frisson of satisfaction because it felt hard-earned. “I’m worn out and need to make some life decisions. Plus, I love what you’re trying to accomplish here. The salary is fine.”

Megan studied him for a moment. She remembered him as a boy—a teen, really. Football, soccer, track—you name it, he’d played it. He’d been a grade ahead of her in school, but he’d always been handsome in an unapproachable sort of way, and even at a young age, the girls took notice. Now, his dark, wavy hair, worn short, was graying at the edges, but he still had the aristocratic nose and strong jaw that had made women—including a young Megan—swoon. Her eyes darted to his left hand. No ring. She’d heard he’d never married.

Not that it mattered. She recognized that flutter in her stomach as excitement. A classically trained cook at her café. Maybe this whole crazy idea would work after all.

“Megan?”

Megan looked up, realizing too late that he’d been talking to her.

“I’m sorry, I missed what you said.”

He smiled again. “I was asking about the menu. Do you know what you want to serve?”

Megan nodded. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the types of food establishments that are available in and near Winsome.”

“Pizza, diners…a steakhouse or two.”

“Right. The people of Winsome deserve something more.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Start with fresh, whole ingredients: veggies and eggs from the farm, humanely-raised chicken, pork, and beef, sustainable fish, organic tofu. Beyond that, my only requests are seasonal, simple and, where you can, an ethnic twist.”

Jeremy frowned. “Sounds expensive. I’m not sure the diner-loving folks of Winsome will pay for organic chicken tikka.”

Megan smiled. “They will. I’ve done the number crunching, Jeremy. The key is to have a limited menu with a few standbys for the meat and potatoes crowd. That way we don’t over-order and we can keep it seasonal. If the menu changes weekly depending upon the farm’s crops, we limit costs for perishables and we have built-in variety.” She pulled a paper out of one of the folders she was carrying. “Like this.”

Megan watched as he perused her sample menu. She was sure it seemed amateurish to a professional chef, but she knew the kind of place she wanted. If he couldn’t go along with that…well, maybe he wasn’t the best candidate after all.

Eventually, he placed the menu on the counter and affixed his eyes to hers. “This works. I’ll start working on next week’s menu today.”

Megan held out her hand, suddenly self-conscious of her calloused fingers and short nails. But Jeremy didn’t seem to notice. He shook her hand firmly. “One day we will toast the café.”

Megan laughed. “With all we’ve been through lately, I hope that day comes sooner rather than later.”

  

Megan was on her way home when Bibi called. “It’s that cat. Mutton Chops. He’s acting funny.”

“Funny how?”

“Vomiting. Listless. He doesn’t seem himself.”

Megan’s first thought was poison. “Did you call Dr. Finn?”

“I did. He said he can see him immediately, but you have to go to his office.” Bibi paused. “I already boxed him up.”

“He let you put him in the carrier?”

“That’s how sick he is, Megan.”

Megan knew her grandmother held no great love for cats. She saw them mostly as a necessity on a farm, little hunters who kept the rodent population at bay, so she was surprised to hear the concern in her grandmother’s voice. Maybe she’d misjudged their friendship. Maybe she was misjudging a lot of things.

“He’ll be okay,” Megan said, trying to mask the worry in her voice. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Better hurry. He seems worse every minute.”

  

“Well, it’s not poison, at least. He’s blocked. His urinary tract isn’t functioning correctly.” Denver had finished the exam, and was standing by the cat, stroking his fur. “He should probably stay overnight.”

Dr. Finn’s office was now closed and empty, except for a young and very perky assistant who was busily cleaning the other exam room.

“Wouldn’t he be better off at home, with me?”

Denver shook his head. “I’ll come by later and check on him. And my assistant is on duty tonight.” He smiled, and Megan felt her stomach tighten. The combination of intelligent blue eyes and the dimpled smile were irresistible, only Denver seemed completely unaware of how handsome he was—part of his charm. “No need to worry. At least not about him.”

“Thank you.”

They were interrupted by the assistant, who poked her head in, smiled at Denver, and said, “All finished out here, Dr. Finn. Is the cat staying?”

Denver nodded. He gave the technician a rundown of meds the cat needed and said, “That means you have two overnight guests. Are you okay with that?”

The young woman nodded, reddish curls bouncing. “Of course.” She sounded almost giddy, clearly affected by Denver’s charm as well. To Megan, she said, “You can take care of the bill tomorrow when you pick him up, if that’s okay. We were already closed for the day when you came in.” Then, realizing she may have said too much, she looked at the vet apologetically. “I mean—”

But Denver dismissed her concern. “Why don’t you get the cat settled and feed our other patient?” When his assistant was gone, he turned back to Megan. “It’s almost eight and I’m starving. Would you like to join me for dinner?”

Megan, thinking of Bibi home alone all day, was about to decline. But Denver looked hopeful, and he’d done a great deal for her animals. A few hours wouldn’t hurt. She nodded. “But I can’t stay out long. Bibi’s alone. Plus, we open the store tomorrow.”

Denver looked surprised. “You got approval?”

“We did. Oddest thing too. Roger Becker came by and hand-delivered the approvals not long after Simon’s death.”

“Did he say why Simon had been sitting on them?”

Megan shrugged. “Not really. It’s a mystery.”

  

They were on their way to dinner in Denver’s Forerunner when an emergency call came in. Megan watched as Denver’s face tensed, his cell phone pressed to his ear. “Calm down,” he said several times. “I can’t understand ye. Okay…okay. We’re not far. I’ll be right over.” He clicked off the cell, flipped on his left turn signal, and looked at Megan. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident. I can take you back to your car if you’d prefer, but we’re already halfway there. Besides, this is someone you wanted to meet.”

Curious, Megan said, “Of course I’ll come. Maybe I can help.”

“Don’t you want to know where we’re headed?”

“Based on the direction, I’d say Porter’s place.”

Eyebrows arched, Denver said, “So you did go on your own after all my warnings.”

“I stopped by, but he wouldn’t answer the door.”

“He’ll answer this time.”

“What happened?”

Denver sighed. “Hit and run. His dog, Sarge.”

  

Sarge turned out to be a hundred-pound German shepherd. As Denver had predicted, Brick was standing outside, gate open, waiting for the vet. When Denver introduced Megan, Brick stared at her for an uncomfortable moment before pointing to the dog. Sarge was lying in the front yard, whimpering, a plaid wool blanket covering him. Floodlights illuminated the small yard. Megan didn’t see blood.

Denver jogged over to the dog and knelt beside him, gently peeling down the blanket. The dog strained to look at him, his tail thumping against the grass. He placed one huge paw against the doctor’s chest and whimpered again.

Denver examined the dog, all the while asking questions. Brick answered without taking his eyes off his companion.

“What happened?”

“Damn bastard hit him and ran off.”

“Did you see who did it?”

“Nah. It was all I could do to lift him off the road. Will he be okay?”

Ignoring his last question, Denver asked, “Why was he in the road?”

“Don’t know,” Porter said, running a shaking hand through closely cropped hair. He was wiry and muscular. Tattoos snaked along his arms, partially hidden by a black Coors t-shirt. A day or two of stubble shadowed his face. He looked young—maybe mid to late twenties—but his reddened, old-soul eyes made Megan wonder what horrors he’d seen overseas.

Denver moved to the dog’s back end, clearly the source of the animal’s distress. He leaned in farther to get a better look in the dim light.

Megan ran to Denver’s car and retrieved the large flashlight she’d spied earlier lying on the passenger side floor. When she returned, she flicked it on and held it over the dog’s hindquarters. Denver nodded his gratitude.

Porter crept closer to his dog, his eyes darting nervously from his dog’s face to the dog’s rear legs to Megan. “Sarge must’ve heard something. I went outside to see what was going on and someone had opened the gate. He ran out. Went after an animal or something. I called and called and finally spotted him coming back. He was almost across the road when a car hit him. Car wasn’t going too fast. That was the only thing saved his life, I think.”

Denver manipulated the dog’s rear left leg. “Did you happen to see the license plate?”

“I was too focused on getting to my dog. I only noticed it was out of state. Florida.” He paused, and Megan heard the slur in his speech—a slur that had nothing to do with alcohol.

The veterinarian stood, wiping strong hands against his thighs. He stared down at the dog, brows creased. Turning to Megan, he said, “Will you stay with Sarge for a moment? I want to talk to Brian alone.”

Megan nodded. Denver and Porter disappeared into the house. While she waited outside, she straightened the blanket on Sarge and knelt down beside him to stroke his head. He appeared heathy, other than the injury from the accident. Short nails, a well-cared for, healthy coat, and clear eyes. He watched her with a look of trust that made her heart ache.

She heard a crash, a yell, and a shout in quick succession. Sarge tried to get up. She placed her hand gently on his shoulder and pushed him down. After another bang, there was silence. A few minutes later, Denver came out alone.

“Do you mind coming back to the clinic with me, Meg?”

“Of course. My car’s there, in any case.”

“I need you to sit in the back with Sarge, if that’s all right.”

“I don’t mind at all.” She gave the dog another stroke. “Brian?”

“I’ll explain in the car.”

It took another ten minutes for Denver to get the dog sedated and situated on the stretcher. He was too heavy for Megan. After a few minutes of negotiation, Porter came back outside looking pissed off and smelling like a fraternity party. His eyes were bright red and watery. He knelt down and picked up one end of the stretcher, then helped Denver carry the dog to the back of the Forerunner, which Denver had decked out like a makeshift ambulance. Megan watched Porter. She noticed sinewy muscles, clenched fists, a set jaw…and the rigid, angry posture of a rage-filled kid. Her mind jumped to the flask in her store, to Simon’s lifeless body. Was it possible this young man had something to do with Duvall’s murder? He seemed unstable enough to carry it out, but what could possibly have been the motive? And why at her farm—she’d never even met him before.

Denver placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Are you sure you’re okay to sit with Sarge?”

“Absolutely.”

The hand squeezed again. Denver moved it from her shoulder to her chin, tilting her face upwards, towards his. “Thank you.”

He looked into her eyes, searching…for what, she wasn’t sure. She took a step back, the weight of his intimacy suddenly too much. Before he could say or do anything, Megan climbed into the back of the vehicle, next to the dog.